


Darkness Hides My Tears

by lurking_in_the_background



Series: The Dannsair [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Emotional Abuse, Forced Relationship, Hand-feeding, Master/Slave, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22177069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lurking_in_the_background/pseuds/lurking_in_the_background
Summary: Outside he is pretty and happy, and everything his master could ever want. Inside, the Dannsair is broken and miserable.Sometimes the invisible chains that bind us are stronger than the physical ones.
Series: The Dannsair [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1570828
Kudos: 16





	Darkness Hides My Tears

**Author's Note:**

> This is how I cope, y'all.... I think it might be slightly unhealthy....
> 
> To stress, mind you. I write to stave off stress.

Goblins demeaned their captives in every way possible. It was no less true for the Dannsair. He had been stripped, beaten, starved, and other, much worse things.

He wore a pretty collar, a nice gold band that didn't hurt him when he breathed, not like other ones he'd seen given to personal pets like him, which were made of heavy iron and had little spikes on the insides designed to cause pain and eliminate noise.

No, the Dannsair had been terrified that his was merely a nicer version of such devices, but it was only a band. It was golden, with his master's seal on the front in silver inlay, and a little silver loop for the slender sliver leash his master kept him on when he was present at his master's meetings.

He wore thin, translucent clothes that didn’t cover all that much. He was always on display. All of him, all the time. But only his master dared to stare and pinch and grope. He had that, at least.

Sometimes, his clothes ripped. They would snag on something, someone pulled them, his master got impatient. They were only fragile silks. They couldn’t withstand the rough treatment they received. They ripped and tore, and were sewn back together in some semblance of what they were before.

Until they no longer could be, in which case they were disposed of and replaced.

He had good, delicious food that he got regularly, that his master fed him every day, until he was full and slightly nauseous. Sometimes, he had to politely extricate himself and empty his stomach when he was fed too much.

He tried not to throw up. It emptied him only a little, and he was in no mood to continue eating afterwards. But that meant little to his master; if he threw up, he must be empty again, and as such needed more food. And whatever came, the Dannsair had to eat all of it.

*  
On one such day, he was sitting in his master’s lap in the throne room, with its great arching stone roof and spiraling columns, watching a feast in progress.

His master called for food for himself and the Dannsair, then smiled at his pet.

“I bet you’re quite hungry, hm, my lovely?” he said, scratching the Dannsair’s chin, as one does with one’s particularly well-behaved pet. “Don’t you worry, pretty; we’ll fill that little belly of yours to the bursting.”

That was exactly what he was afraid of.

When food arrived, brought to them by a particularly terrified human slave, his master kissed his face and pressed a bit of greasy meat to his lips.

“Come now, my lovely,” his master cooed, when he didn’t part his lips immediately. “You must be hungry. You haven’t eaten anything since lunch.” The meat was pressed between his lips and against his teeth. In truth, the Dannsair wasn’t particularly hungry. He didn’t particularly want to eat this meat, from only the gods knew what; he wanted to go back to his room and sleep.

There was a pinch on the back of his neck, and the Dannsair squeaked in surprise. The meat was quickly slipped past his teeth and into his mouth, and he choked on it briefly. The taste was nauseating; it tasted fatty and burnt, and it was coated in grease.

“See, lovely, that wasn’t so bad,” his master told him, holding another piece to his lips. “It’s no different from any other day; I’m not sure why you’re fighting me on this.” The Dannsair steeled himself for the taste and ate it delicately from his master’s fingers. It took all his willpower not to retch. “M-master, I don’t think I can eat any more of that,” he said, eyeing the meat on the plate warily. “It makes me feel ill.”

His master laughed, stroking his hair. “Silly lovely, you have to eat your protein. It’s good for you.” Another piece was put to his lips, and the Dannsair ate it. His master was right, after all; it was good for him, even if it didn’t taste good.

“Good boy,” his master praised him, feeding him more. “Oh yes, you’re a very good boy for me, aren’t you?” The Dannsair didn’t reply. He felt queasy; vaguely ill, and he felt if he tried to speak he would throw up. He forced himself to swallow this latest bite. It was good for him, he told himself as he was fed another bite, and good boys eat what’s good for them.

This went on for several minutes; he would eat, be praised, reassure himself, repeat. But, finally, he truly felt ill. He knew he was going to be sick. Quickly, he shifted in his master’s lap like he had to relieve himself. “Well, go on, then, lovely, don’t make a mess,” his master said letting him go.

Once he was free, he bolted. He made it to the bathroom and vomited in a corner. It tasted worse coming up than it did going down, and the acrid taste made him vomit more. His throat hurt, his stomach clenched painfully, and he felt horribly tired and sick.

He curled up by the puddle of his half-digested food, trying to calm his stomach.

This was the way his master found him.

“Oh no, lovely,” he cooed, and picked the Dannsair up carefully. “You’ve made quite a mess, haven’t you?” The Dannsair whimpered quietly, and his master used one of the many silk scarves around the Dannsair’s waist to wipe the bile and vomit from the Dannsair’s face.

“You must be even hungrier, hm lovely?”

The Dannsair didn’t bother to reply. His master was going to feed him, even if he said he wasn’t hungry. The cycle would repeat until the Dannsair’s body either accepted the food, or he threw it up so much that his master would investigate as to why; usually by making him eat a number of things. Many of which made him sick. So was the way.

*  
His master discovered later that the Dannsair’s elfin body couldn’t process the meat of the giant moles that roamed the mine tunnels beneath them. And, that the meat was mostly raw in the center, which did not help, either.

He also discovered that the Dannsair reacted better to lichens and plants that the goblins managed to grow in the dark than to almost all the meat he was fed.

The Dannsair, of course, didn’t much care. He wanted food he could eat. He wanted to eat it himself, not be fed like a baby. But, of course, he thought, good boys didn’t complain. They ate what they were fed. And they ate all of it.


End file.
